The emotional component was what upset me the most. It wasn't that things were not bothering me anymore. Rather, all feeling was someplace else very close by, imprisoned behind a wall that looked like the bulletproof glass in a bank. I knew it was there, saw it, felt it struggling like a small child or hurt animal, but couldn't do anything about it.
As I'd spent nearly 10 years and countless thousands of dollars in therapy trying to learn how to feel and express emotion, this chemical deadening didn't seem right or fair. My intellect protested, my body revolted against. I wore a perpetual scowl and started grinding my teeth again. All I could think of in the rare quiet moments was ending this part of the treatment, ending counseling outright and trying to soldier on alone.